Just A Small Thing
by otherhawk
Summary: Five times Rusty's thing for law enforcement was a problem, and one time it definitely wasn't.


**A/N: For InSilva. Both for the reasons she knows, and because when she's away is the best and most annoying time to give her fic. Plus she's been waiting on some of this since at least 2009**

**Disclaimer: I don't own O11 or any characters thereof**

* * *

1.

Rusty was eleven years old and the new cop was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Everyone said so. She was tall with bronzed skin and dark hair and when she ran through the streets, chasing down Red Corrigan, he and the other boys gathered on the landing of the fire escape over the laundrette and watched.

"Would you look at that," Finn said with a deep appreciative sigh.

"Man, I love watching her run," Antonio agreed. "She just..." He made a gesture around his chest. "You know?"

Rusty said nothing. They were all a couple of years older than him, and he knew they were looking for different things, but he thought she ran like a cat. All focus and determination and grace, and even as he wished she'd look up so he could see her eyes, he was glad she didn't. She kept her eyes on the prize and when she finally brought Corrigan down and wrestled him into handcuffs he felt like cheering.

"So much hotter than old Officer Dorres," Rabbit grinned.

That made them all look at him. "Yeah. No shit," Rusty said, amused.

"The fifty year old with the beer belly and the squint?" Antonio snorted.

"Wonder what her name is?" Finn asked, still gazing dreamily as she picked him up off the street and shoved him into the back of her squad car.

Rusty didn't know either. But he wanted to find out. So, two days later found him standing in the confectionery aisle of the grocery store, waiting for her to come by for her four o'clock cup of coffee, and just as she walked up to the counter, he picked up a snickers bar and let it fall into his pocket.

Now he got to see her eyes, because when he lifted his head she was regarding him coolly in the mirror at the side of the counter. All that focus turned on him. "Stop right there, kid," she said warningly, and for once in his life he did. "Alright. Now, you're going to put that chocolate back and you're going to apologise to Mr Aguirre and then you and me are going to take a little trip to see your parents."

"Sure," he agreed easily, relinquishing the chocolate bar without a second thought. He still had a bunch at home that he'd stolen the other day, after all. "Sorry, Mr Aguirre."

Mr Aguirre just grunted, seemingly uncaring, and Rusty followed the cop out to the squad car and stood waiting patiently by the back door.

The cop looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. "Why don't you ride in the front, kid," she suggested.

He smiled widely. That sounded like much more fun, and he waited while she opened the door before sliding in eagerly. "You got a radio?" he asked cheerfully.

She raised an eyebrow. "I got lights and sirens."

That was just as good.

"So," she said, as she sat down in the driver's seat, so close he could see the soft scar across her cheek, could smell her perfume. "What's your name, kid? Where do you live?"

"What's _your _name?" he countered.

She shot him a look that was almost amused. "I'm Officer Perez. Now you?"

Officer. Not quite the first name terms he'd been hoping for. Still, it was better than nothing. "Robert Ryan," he told her. "Except you can call me Rusty."

"Alright, Rusty," she said intently. "Now, where do you live?"

He pursed his lips. "Do you really need to know that?" he asked hopefully. Dad was not gonna be pleased to see him right now. "Can't you just give me a warning and let me go? I swear, I've learned my lesson."

"Somehow I doubt that," she said, shaking her head. "Come on. Either you tell me where you live, or we head down to the precinct instead and we'll end up calling your parents from there."

Okay, that sounded even less fun. "Apartment 204, 1720 West Pine Street," he told her with a sigh.

"Alright then," she said, starting to drive off. "So, how old are you, kid?"

"Almost twelve," he said, and that was true if you figured eleven and two months was almost twelve. "So now it's my question, right? Have you ever been in a car chase?"

"Have I ever been in a car chase?" she repeated, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. "I don't think we were playing questions."

He shrugged. "Might as well do something to pass the time. Since you don't have a radio. Have you?"

She glanced sideways at him. "Why do you want to know?"

That was technically another question in what should have been his shot. But he figured he'd let it slide. "I saw you chasing Corrigan the other day," he explained. "It was..." He paused, avoiding all the words the other boys had used. "Cool. It was cool. So I was wondering if you'd ever been in a car chase?"

"A couple of times, yeah," she nodded.

"And did you catch the bad guys?" he asked.

"I always catch the bad guys," she told him easily. "I caught you, remember?"

He bit his lip. "I'm not a bad guy," he said, not sounding quite certain.

There was a pause, and some of her attention was on the road and some of it was on him. "No you're not, kid," she said, and there was enough certainty in her voice to make him relax some.

They pulled up right outside his apartment building. "So," she said, as she turned off the engine. "You want to tell me why you stole that candy when you knew I was watching?"

He tilted his head and it only took him a second's thought to decide on honesty. "I wanted to know your name."

She looked at him for a moment. "It's Carlota," she said at last. "Officer Carlota Perez." Her smile was warm and soft and genuine. And even though he knew that there was gonna be trouble when they went upstairs, that made all this feel completely worth it.

* * *

2.

They'd been scoping out the Huntington brokerage firm for three days when he figured out the new receptionist was an undercover cop. He'd been flirting with her a little beforehand, nothing serious, just as a way to get information and hopefully a way in. That was until revelation struck and he found himself taking a second look and finding her so much more intriguing.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone knew Huntington was a high profile target, mostly because there was going to be a boatload of bearer bonds being moved through there in the next few days, but also because Huntington himself was probably one of the most unpleasant men Rusty had ever met who didn't actually have people killed. He had a falling out with one of his brokers over the coffee machine of all things, and next thing she'd not only been fired, she'd been blacklisted and arrested for stealing stationary. That kind of pettiness got people's attention.

He thought that maybe she agreed; he'd caught her rolling her eyes behind Huntington's back a time or two. He didn't know her real name, but she called herself Liz Trent.

"He's a real bundle of joy, huh?" he asked, bringing her a coffee as Huntington got through yelling at her.

"I can handle him," she said, and his eyes picked out the wiry muscle beneath the unflattering suit and he smiled.

"I bet you can," he murmured.

She grinned back conspiratorially, and he'd be willing to bet this had nothing to do with the job. "You know he used to work as a mascot for a fast food joint? And he's got a couple of priors for indecent exposure. So every time he starts giving me shit, I think about him dressed up in a hotdog with a weiner hanging out."

He closed his eyes. "Oh, I am _never _gonna be able to erase that mental image," he complained.

"Sorry," she said unrepentantly.

He bought her dinner and they ate in the office, drinking beer and carefully supergluing each and every key on Huntington's keyboard in place before they finished off having an impossibly good time on the couch in Huntington's office. It was the little things that made this whole working-for-a-living thing worthwhile.

It as her job to catch thieves. She was the very last person he should be thinking of dating, and yet the draw of the danger was practically irresistible. When he kissed her it was like a rush of adrenaline. Every date he spent wondering if now was when she was going to find out who he really was, and yeah, that probably shouldn't be as much of a turn on as it was.

He didn't tell Danny.

But on the night of the job, when they had the bonds stashed safely in the briefcase and all that was left to do was walk out, she confronted them on the mezzanine, gun in hand, and the look of absolute fury and betrayal on her face made him wince. It wasn't like he was the only one who'd been lying this whole time...

"It wasn't for the job," he tried to explain, and the tip of the gun jerked up slightly, and if Danny hadn't managed to set off the explosives at that exact moment, things might have gone very badly. As it was, they managed to slip away in the confusion, leaving her behind.

"How long?" Danny asked as they drove home.

"Since I saw her," he admitted.

Danny nodded. "That was stupid," he said. "And unprofessional."

"I know," he agreed, and he did, and he was sorry, and they didn't say anything else about it.

But a month later, when they were getting ready to walk right into the precinct to get the evidence against Foley out, he lay on the sofa and watched lazily as Danny stood in front of the mirror, making sure the uniform fitted just so.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked without turning round.

"Objectifying you," he said with a grin.

Danny choked, and then his eyes narrowed as he watched Rusty in the mirror, and he was thinking about Liz sure, but he was also thinking about those traffic cops that Rusty had charmed just a little bit more than was maybe necessary, and Amy who he'd dated for a few days soon after he and Danny had met.

"You have a thing for law enforcement," Danny stated.

He blinked. Not quite the way he'd ever thought of it, but...he had to admit, the shoe fitted. "Yeah," he said, and he and Danny were new enough that he tilted his head to one side, asking if that was gonna be a problem.

Danny smiled softly. "Rus'..." he chided, and there was both fondness and exasperation there. "Just be careful, that's all."

"Of course," he said, and meant it.

* * *

3.

Rusty ran along the water's edge through a field of shipping containers, aware that the footsteps behind him weren't getting any further away and certainly weren't slowing down. Still, he couldn't stop grinning. Being chased by a real life Mountie in ceremonial red uniform including hat? That was one to check off any sightseeing list. Only thing better would be if he was on a horse, though he had to concede if there was a horse involved he'd probably have been caught already.

The path along the waterfront suddenly came to an abrupt end. Fuck. There was a ladder just to his right though, and faced with that or doubling back, he scrambled up it as quick as he could. And now he was sprinting along the tops of the containers, and the Mountie was still right behind him, and the next container was suspended up and over the water, a little distance away. But beyond that there was another, higher one, and another, and he thought he could see a way across.

"Don't be an idiot!" the Mountie called out sternly behind him.

He grinned even more. "It's a lifestyle choice," he yelled back, and he jumped, grabbing the top of the container by his fingertips and hauling himself up, and then he was up and moving again while the container shook and creaked ominously.

He wasn't altogether surprised when he heard the thud from behind him, and the container started to sway even more alarmingly. "Guess idiocy is contagious," he said loudly.

"I'm duty bound to apprehend you and bring you to justice," the Mountie answered.

Huh. Who _talked _like that? He managed to pick up an extra burst of speed as he got near the edge of the container, throwing himself up and onto the next one.

There was a sudden ping and he looked up quickly to see the cable snap through the crane at the end. And all the containers were strung together, and so in a few seconds they were going to start falling right into the water. No time to get back to land, and if he jumped there was too much chance that something would fall on him, or he'd be sucked under.

This one was gonna land on top of the previous one...mind racing with water depth and angles of descent, he dropped back down to the edge of the shipping container, kicked the door open and threw himself inside. Immediately, he turned back to the Mountie still on the other container, looking down at the water like he was thinking of risking the jump, and held out a hand. "In here!" He could see the hesitation and he tried to look reassuring. "Trust me."

The Mountie jumped, hand outstretched, and Rusty grabbed him and pulled him inside and the door swung shut as the container finally fell.

There was a hell of a lot of noise and he was thrown from one side of the container to the other, as crates and boxes fell around him, and then there was a crash, a jarring impact, and water started rushing in, dark and cold.

For a split second he panicked, afraid that his instantaneous calculations had all been wrong and they were underwater and about to drown, but immediately the water evened out, somewhere just above knee height.

Alright. He glanced over at the Mountie. They were both alive. "You alright?"

"Scrapes and bruises," the Mountie answered, picking himself up out of a broken crate and pulling his hat back on. "But there's nothing broken. You saved my life."

He shrugged, and waded through the water over to the door and tried it, more out of hope than anything else. It was buckled, and stuck tight. "We're trapped."

"You could have just left me," the Mountie persisted.

Rusty turned to look at him. "No, I really couldn't," he said flatly.

The Mountie had the grace to look abashed. Now that Rusty actually had a chance to look, he saw that the Mountie was about his own age, with blond hair and hazel eyes, and the attractiveness didn't just come from the red uniform. He tried pulling futilely at the door again before giving up for the moment and sitting on a nearby crate.

"Someone will have seen the crane fall," the Mountie said reassuringly. "They'll have called the police. A rescue operation will soon be underway."

"My friend will find us first," Rusty said confidently.

There was a pause and the Mountie blinked. "You're betting on your friend finding us before the full force of the RCMP?"

He smiled. "Yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

There was silence for a while as the Mountie settled down against the opening wall, and he figured they were both settling in for the long haul. He couldn't stop staring at the door.

"You're bleeding!" the Mountie said suddenly.

Startled, he reached up to his forehead and he hadn't even noticed the cut till now. "Must have hit my head when we fell," he said, dabbing at it with his sleeve.

"Here," the Mountie said, walking over and producing a clean cotton handkerchief, and Rusty blinked as he folded it and pressed it against Rusty's forehead. "Hold this a moment."

He did so, and the Mountie pulled a miniature flashlight out of his belt and shone it in Rusty's eyes. "Ow," he complained."

"Pupil reaction is normal," he said, frowning. "Any headache or dizziness?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, I don't _think _you have a concussion, but you should probably stay sitting. And please let me know if you develop any symptoms."

His lips twitched. "You want me to let you know if I get a headache?"

The Mountie nodded earnestly. "Technically you're in my custody right now so I'm responsible for you."

"I'm in your custody?" he repeated.

"Technically, yes," the Mountie agreed.

"Huh." He pursed his lips. "Shouldn't I be in handcuffs or something?"

"I considered that in our present circumstances, denying you the use of your hands could be dangerous," the Mountie explained. There was a pause. "Also, I don't have them on me," he added, and Rusty laughed.

"So what's your name?" he asked, settling back against the wall. He hoped Danny got here soon. Already he was starting to feel trapped...which of course, he was.

"Constable Steve Mullhaney," the Mountie replied promptly, sitting down beside him.

Rusty tilted his head to look at him. "Mind if I call you Steve?" he asked lazily. "Constable Mullhaney is...a bit of a mouthful." Curious, he let the barest hint of innuendo ripple through his voice, subtly enough that the Mountie – Steve – would only pick up on it if he was looking for it.

There was the faintest flicker of something that might have been interest in Steve's eyes before he answered blandly "Certainly you can call me Steve if it makes you more comfortable."

"Nice to know my comfort is important," he murmured.

"And what's your name?" Steve asked politely.

He grinned. "In the circumstances I'd rather not say," he answered. "You can call me Rusty though." Might be his real name, but he wasn't going to find it anywhere official unless he went trawling through known aliases. And if he was doing that, well, he already knew what Rusty looked like.

"Rusty..." Steve repeated thoughtfully. "I like it, actually. It suits you."

"Thanks," he said, not entirely sure if they were flirting or not. Something close, he thought. "So where were you going that you're wearing your red uniform but you've got no handcuffs?"

Steve looked down suddenly. "I was coming back from a funeral," he said. "My old sergeant. I was walking past the gallery when I heard the commotion and saw you running. So I gave chase."

Oh, hell. "Sorry, man," he said sincerely. This was a lousy way to spend someone's funeral day. "You guys close?"

"We were," Steve said with a heavy sigh. "I hadn't seen him so much since he retired. Somehow that makes it worse."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Rusty asked quietly.

"About six months ago," Steve said after a moment's thought. "We got a drink together. I told him about the cases I'd been working lately. As I was leaving he said he was proud of me."

He smiled. "Sounds like maybe it didn't matter how often you saw him. Everything was already there."

"Yeah, maybe," Steve agreed. He blinked as if suddenly realising exactly who he was talking to. "You're a good listener."

"One of my many talents," Rusty agreed lightly.

They sat in silence for a while. "So, if my people find us you'll be under arrest," Steve said suddenly.

He nodded restlessly. Yes. They were trapped here. There didn't seem any way out of that. A cold shiver ran through him and he drew his feet up and out of the water. Danny would find him, he reminded himself fiercely. Danny would find him, because Danny always did.

"But if your friend finds us first," Steve continued. "What happens then? I take it this isn't going to end with me going into the bay with an anchor round my ankles?"

Rusty blinked. Wasn't the sort of thought that would ever cross his mind. His 'thing' as Danny called it aside, they really didn't have any problem with the police. The cops were just doing their job, some better than others, and while being caught was something to be avoided, it certainly wasn't something to be avoided at all costs. Killing someone – hell, _hurting _someone – for just trying to do their duty, well, that was always going to be a cost too high to pay. "I don't even know where I'd find an anchor," he said reassuringly. "Don't worry about it."

"So, what then?" Steve persisted. "Are you going to leave me in here?"

This place seemed stable enough. And it wasn't airtight, however it might feel to him, so there'd be no risk of suffocation. Still. It didn't sit right with him. He grimaced. "Don't think so," he said shortly. Better plan, they got in a car and drove away, leaving Steve to go report them.

"You know I've seen your face," Steve said slowly. "Aren't you afraid I'll just track you down and arrest you again?"

He looked at him. "For what?" he asked innocently. "I don't have any stolen property on me. In fact, I think you'll find that when you go back to the gallery and check with the owner there's been a misunderstanding and nothing's actually been stolen." At least if everything had gone to plan that should be the case.

There was a pause. Steve's gaze was intense. "I saw you running," he observed. "People were yelling 'Stop Thief'."

"Appearances can be deceptive," he said airily.

"And sometimes not so much," Steve answered dryly.

For all the flirt that was in this conversation, there was more than a hint of threat. Rusty figured that Steve was about as straight as they came...in one sense, anyway. If Steve got the opportunity, he really would arrest him. But he'd regret it. He could see that too. Outside this place, he would always have to run, and Steve would always have to chase him, and that's just the way it was.

"What's your favourite movie?" he asked abruptly.

"Rear Window," Steve answered immediately. "How about you?"

"Hitchcock fan, huh?" he said with a smile. It was one of his too. "Depends on my mood, I suppose. Sometimes I want to watch Citizen Kane, sometimes I just want to watch the last ten minutes of Ghostbusters."

"If you're only watching the last ten minutes, you're missing the part in the mayor's office," Steve objected. "Dogs and cats living together - "

" - mass hysteria," he finished with a smile. "Yeah."

They'd moved closer while they were talking, turning to face each other. Now, it would only take an inch or so for him to lean in and kiss Steve. He wanted...

Steve turned away and stood up abruptly. "We should keep moving every so often," he said hurriedly. "This water might not be cold enough to induce hypothermia, but staying still is still a danger."

"Sure," he agreed, trying not to show his disappointment. Maybe pouring cold water over this whole thing was the sensible thing to do. But he'd never been so fond of sensible. He stood up to walk around for a bit and leaned briefly against the door. It looked as though it should just open if he pushed it, just a little. But it didn't. _Danny, where are you?_ "So do you carry a flashlight and a handkerchief all the time?" he asked lightly, forcing his mind off the feeling of being trapped. "Because I can relate to that. I always like being prepared. What else do you have in your pockets?"

"Shouldn't I be the one conducting the strip search?" Steve said, and then blushed lightly, like he hadn't meant to say that. But at the same time there was a glint in his eye, like maybe he wasn't that sorry after all.

Rusty grinned. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Steve walked over towards him, sloshing through the water, and he looked Rusty in the eye as he emptied his pockets onto the top of a crate. "I got the flashlight and the handkerchief, pocket knife, magnifying glass, string and trail mix."

"Impressive," he smiled, digging into his pockets. "Snap on the flashlight. And I got electrical tape, some copper wire, M&amp;Ms, the Skytrain schedule...and a menu for Cincin's...damn, have you tasted the pizza there?...and...yeah." He laid his bundle of lockpicks down on top. "There's that."

"I thought you said you didn't have any incriminating evidence on you?" Steve asked.

"I don't," he said, smiling broadly. "There's nothing illegal about lockpicks. In fact, I'm a travelling locksmith by trade."

Steve's lips twitched. "That's a new one," he said calmly.

"It's good work," he said, innocently. "Lots of variety. I've been all over the world." He started to shove everything back into his pockets, except the M&amp;Ms. He tore them open. "Want some?"

"I'll trade you for some trail mix," Steve offered.

"Trail mix." He shook his head as he carefully took a handful that contained as much chocolate as possible. "You trying to be a stereotype?"

"I don't know," Steve said as he popped an M&amp;M in his mouth. "Are M&amp;Ms what travelling lockpickers usually eat?"

"Lock_smith,_" Rusty corrected. "And we eat all sorts," he added, carefully licking the chocolate off his lips. Huh. The stuff in the trail mix was nicer than he'd been expecting.

"I bet you do," Steve said, his eyes fixed on Rusty's mouth, more than a hint of hunger in his gaze, and that was both flattering and _tempting, _and just for a second, Rusty could feel butterflies fluttering around his chest_. _Oh, this wasn't good. Attraction was one thing, this...this might be something else. For a second he imagined just taking one step towards Steve, running his hands across his shoulders, taking his hat off and kissing him, hard and fierce and then Steve seemed to remember himself again and went back to sit on the crate on the far side of the container, as far from Rusty as he could possibly get.

Damn it. He sighed. Turned away again. Right now, he wanted to throw himself against the door and punch and kick at it until it gave way. His fingernails dug deep into his palms and he tried to breathe slowly, ignoring the slight hitch in his breath. He walked to the door again and tried pushing it from the other side, hoping that maybe he could break the hinges. It didn't shift, and trying to be as subtle as he could, he nudged it with his foot. Maybe with just the right pressure...fuck, he wanted _out _of here. His hand slammed against the door hard.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked sharply, and Rusty jerked, the pain shooting through his hand and up his arm.

"'m _fine,_" he snapped, his shoulders hunched.

"Rusty..." Steve said softly, and Rusty could hear the concern in his voice. Sounded genuine. Sounded like Steve actually cared.

He let his head fall forwards against the door. "I don't like feeling trapped," he admitted.

There was a pause, and he felt a cautious hand on his shoulder. "You're claustrophobic?"

"Something like that," he agreed. "I just don't like being locked up."

Steve's thumb absently rubbed over the back of his neck. "I think you might be in the wrong line of work then."

It was unexpected, and it made him laugh briefly. "Hypothetically, if I was a thief, I'd like to think that I'm good enough I've never spent a full night in jail."

"Really?" Steve paused. "Huh. Well, if you were our hypothetical thief, I'd have to say that would be very impressive."

"Thanks," he smiled, slightly more shakily than he would like. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Alright, come sit down a moment," Steve said briskly, taking his hand and examining it closely. "I don't have any water to give you, I'm afraid."

"This place is full of water," he pointed out.

"I wouldn't suggest drinking it," Steve said. "Sadly, water pollution is a growing concern." He sat on the crate beside Rusty, still holding his hand like he hadn't even noticed. His fingers curled around Steve's and the touch made him feel warm inside. "I'm a good policeman," Steve stated.

Rusty looked at him and didn't say anything.

"My sergeant always said a good policeman is above all, disinterested." Steve took a deep breath. "You're a suspect. I'm responsible for you. No matter how I feel - "

" - how _do_ you feel?" Rusty asked quickly.

Steve's lips twitched, but his eyes were serious. "I feel," he said, squeezing Rusty's hand. "Isn't that enough?"

He took a deep breath and leaned forwards, slowly moving into Steve's space, giving him all the opportunity in the world to back away.

He didn't.

Instead, he leaned forwards as well until their lips met, and Rusty felt the rush, the thrill, and it wasn't like any other kiss he'd ever had. It was...brighter. Deeper. And it seemed to last forever.

"Well," Steve said at last as they broke apart, his hand snaked around Rusty's shirt front.

"Yeah," he agreed breathlessly. That was something else.

Steve dropped his head against Rusty's shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. "This has been a very strange day."

He smiled down at him. "But good strange, right?"

"Yes," Steve agreed. "Very good."

Too good to last. He knew that even before he heard the sound of the crowbar in the door, heard his name being called desperately.

Danny's face was white and his suit was ripped and when he caught sight of Rusty the smile of relief was immediate and dazzling.

Rusty swallowed hard. "Hey, Danny," he said. "This is Steve."

* * *

4.

His head was throbbing and cramp had long since set into his arms and legs. And that wasn't even the worst of this situation. He turned his head to the side and rubbed his face against the pillow, trying again to force the blindfold off his eyes. If he could see he'd probably be feeling a whole lot less on edge. But of course, Eric _wanted _him on edge. That's why he'd gone away, leaving Rusty cuffed to the bed, his feet chained to either bedpost, to think about his offer.

It had been six hours, he thought. He normally had a good sense of time, but the blindfold was messing with it some. Plus, he was pretty sure he was mildly concussed. That couldn't be helping. He gave up on the blindfold for a moment and took a deep shuddering breath. The air was unpleasantly warm. Damnit, Eric could at least have left the AC on. It would serve him right if Rusty had died of thirst before he got back.

Sighing, he banged his head against the pillow. No chance of that happening. Luckily, of course. Far as Eric was concerned, he'd sweated him, put the pressure on, and now this probably wasn't any different from leaving a perp in handcuffs to sweat in an examination room. Of course Rusty figured in that situation he'd probably be wearing more clothes.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching the door and he tensed. Not hotel staff. This was the penthouse suite, so there was no one else on this floor, and he himself had slipped the hotel staff a hundred bucks not to disturb them before Eric had got around to revealing that he had more on his mind than a vacation. So this had to be Eric coming back at last, and the door wasn't even closed before he was snarling "I don't give a fuck what you do, I'm not working with you!"

"Oh, I think we both know that's not true," Danny murmured, and Rusty's heart skipped a beat.

A second later and the blindfold was removed and he gazed up at Danny, too relieved to hide the joy even if he wanted to.

Danny's answering smile was tight as his eyes flickered over the two sets of handcuffs and the chain keeping him spreadeagled against the bed posts, lingering on Rusty's temple where he could feel the blood had dried, and his ribs where he had no doubt the bruises had already formed. "Rus'..." He could barely feel it when Danny took his hand, and as he watched, Danny took a deep breath. "So how's your vacation going?"

Rusty licked his lips and answered the question Danny hadn't asked. "It was Eric. He decided playing at cops and robbers just wasn't enough for him."

"Uh huh." Danny sat on the bed beside him and started working on picking the first set of cuffs. "Figured that was probably the case. He's in the bar downstairs, drinking with some guys who have Interpol written all over them. They looked like they'd probably be there for a while. There was a bunch of bottles on the table and they'd just ordered dinner."

He imagined Eric downstairs, eating and drinking quite happily, knowing that he was upstairs, chained, blindfolded and helpless, and he was left with an uncomfortable mix of hard anger and soft hurt. "So what brings you to Tahiti anyway?" he asked, trying to sound as upbeat as possible, but his voice was hoarse.

Danny looked at him sharply. "Hang on a moment," he said softly as he stood up and left the room.

"I don't exactly have a whole lot of choice," Rusty called after ironically, because he _wasn't _traumatised, and Danny walking out and leaving him like this was nothing _like _Eric walking out and leaving him, because Danny was only going to be gone for -

Danny walked back in a second later, holding a tooth glass, a bottle of water, and a miniature of whisky. "Here," he said gently, pouring the water into the glass and holding Rusty's head up to help him drink, and the thirst hadn't been anywhere near unbearable, but this still felt so much better, and when Danny poured the whisky and helped him drink that too, he accepted – welcomed – the shot of relaxation.

"I gave you a call last night," Danny said as he sat back down and got back to work with the lockpicks. "You didn't answer." He shrugged. "I figured that was fair enough since you're on vacation, but when you hadn't called me back this morning, I sent you a couple of texts. You didn't reply to _those _so I got worried."

Rusty snorted. Yeah, like Danny hadn't been worried from the first time he hadn't answered his phone. "Eric's got my phone," he said. He'd taken it yesterday afternoon after he'd made it clear what he was _actually _after, and Rusty had tried to walk out.

Danny nodded, his face dangerously calm. "Figured as much." The first set of handcuffs fell open, and Danny made to move across him to the next set, but he hesitated and instead stood and walked all the way round the bed to Rusty's other side before getting to work on the set on his left hand. He blinked, but before he could say anything, Danny took a deep breath. "So, you said you weren't going to work with him."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "He figured I'd make a good informer. Wanted me to get in with Rocco Gallo and Fox Garrity and tell him whatever I found out."

He saw Danny nod. Big fish. Big, successful fish who were always looking for talent and would jump at the chance to recruit Rusty. It wasn't that Eric's plan was bad, it was just that Rusty wouldn't do it in a million years. Neither Gallo nor Garrity were personal friends, but they were professional contacts, and there was the usual network of favours done for mutual acquaintances, and this wasn't what he was about. Even if knocking him out and keeping him prisoner was any sort of way of persuading him.

That was reflected on Danny's face as well, and his eyes flickered back over the bruises. "I think there are rules about how cops can recruit confidential informants," Danny said, his face tight. "I don't think beating them and tying them up is supposed to come into it."

"I wouldn't say _beating,_" he objected. It had just been a couple of punches, and really, it had been more about stopping him from jumping off the balcony.

Danny looked at him, his jaw clenched and didn't say anything.

"Yeah. Well." He shrugged uncomfortably. "He did say he didn't play by the rules when I met him."

"Good to know you can picked up by a tagline for a cheap thriller, by the way," Danny noted, his attention back on the cuffs.

Rusty flinched slightly. Yeah. This really wasn't his finest hour. Not by a long shot. The second set of cuffs fell open and he sat up immediately, trying to massage some life back into his arms and shoulders. He groaned slightly. "Oh, that feels better," he admitted.

There were plenty of jokes Danny could be making right now. But instead he just gave Rusty a slight, serious smile and turned his attention to the chains keeping Rusty's left leg tight against the bedpost. And he supposed that made sense to some degree; in spite of what Danny had seen downstairs it was still possible Eric could walk in any minute.

With a short pained grunt, he leaned forwards and started working the chain off his other leg. "Still haven't figured out exactly where he got this from," he remarked. "I'm damn sure they didn't come with the hotel room and somehow I doubt airport security is fine with you carrying that much metal on board."

"It'd be hell on your luggage allowance," Danny agreed solemnly and it sounded a little too forced, like Danny was trying too hard.

"I guess he must have got them here," he went on. "He did slip off at the market yesterday. Thought he was getting me a present. He came back with chocolate."

"He got you chocolates while he was getting something to chain you up?" Danny asked with difficulty, his voice cracking under the weight of self-control.

The chains fell off his ankles and he drew his legs back, staring at Danny with a frown. "Danny - "

" - here," Danny said quickly, grabbing his clothes off the floor, and really, Rusty had other clothes here, unpacked and in the wardrobe, clothes that hadn't been lying out all night, but there was a wildness in Danny's eyes, so he put them on without a word.

There. He was free and he was clothed. He couldn't deny that was a lot more comfortable. He turned to Danny again. "Danny - "

" - _Rus._" And now he could see the question Danny had been trying to hide from him, the question that Danny had obviously decided needed to wait until he was less vulnerable, and he cursed himself for being so slow. Danny had found him chained naked to a bed. Of course Danny was going to wonder. _Think. _And his answer now would decide whether Eric got to live.

"No," he said gently, stepping forwards and putting his hand lightly on Danny's forearm. "No, all that stopped once he admitted what he actually wanted from me. I told him to go to hell and he didn't touch me after that." Like that anyway. There'd still been a certain amount of hitting him and throwing him around. But Danny already knew that, and that wasn't what Danny had been talking about, and still Danny was looking at him, searching for the truth. "He didn't rape me, Danny." He hadn't. But there had been plenty of sex before that, which had been fantastic at the time, and now made him feel used and dirty. He wondered if he'd been targeted all along, or if at some point Eric had just realised who he was and seized on the opportunity.

Danny exhaled slowly. "Okay," he said. "He didn't rape you. He just took advantage of you, beat you up and took you prisoner, but I suppose that's alright then."

He cocked his head to the side. "When you put it like that, I'm beginning to think you don't think I should ask him on a second date."

Danny laughed slightly and reached up so his hand was clasped around Rusty's wrist. "You know when I said you should be more impulsive?"

"Never," Rusty said accurately. "You've never said that."

"Uh huh," Danny nodded. "Try being _less _impulsive. And if you must date cops, try to avoid the dirty ones."

He raised an eyebrow. "Good advice from a man whose last date left him for a tarantula."

"Oh, I did the leaving," Danny said firmly. "She was _petting_ it."

"Sure you did," he grinned. He rolled his shoulders. The aces were still there but there was nothing a good night's sleep and a couple days downtime wouldn't fix. Nothing except his pride anyway.

"Let's get out of here," Danny suggested lightly.

He smiled. "Thought you'd never ask." At some point he figured Danny was going to want to revisit Eric and explain the error of his ways, but that wasn't today. Today, all Danny's attention was on him, and he had absolutely no problem with that.

* * *

5.

A week before the Benedict job and there were a hundred and one things Rusty should be doing. He hadn't figured out the issue with the ballast yet, they hadn't rigged the call divert so the 911 calls would go to them, they hadn't worked out the best way to plant the phone on Benedict yet, and he still hadn't figured out what it Danny was hiding from him. And all of that meant he _really _should be capable of focusing on anything else except the sight of Livingston dressed in a SWAT uniform, complaining that the pants were too tight.

"I mean, it's just...I know those were the measurements, but I really think this can't be right," he said, gesturing down at his legs, the helmet lying abandoned on the coffee table. "They're definitely, um, pulled tight where they shouldn't be." He gestured again. Rusty didn't look.

"They seem alright to me," Danny said innocently. "What do you think, Rusty?"

The dirty look was entirely in his head. Which, fortunately, meant Danny got the full effect of it. He looked in a strictly professional capacity. "I think Livingston's right," he agreed with a grimace. "It's a minor thing, but we don't anyone picking up on little details that are out of place." There were plenty of things that didn't add up; the only way this would work is if it all happened so fast no one noticed. And the only way _that _would work is if they got as many of the details as possible.

"You mean like one SWAT officer eyeing another up?" Danny murmured in a voice that might have been meant only for him if it wasn't for the fact that Livingston overhearing was so _clearly _deliberate.

Livingston blushed; Rusty shot Danny a look that was both unembarrassed _and _unamused.

"Um. So. Yes," Livingston went on, starting to babble. "The pants don't fit right. So I don't know if I can do something about that - "

" - we'll do something about that," Rusty promised firmly.

"Right." He stood there a moment longer. "Right. Maybe you could come by and pick them up later then, Rus'?"

"Maybe he will," Danny said cheerfully.

They _both _gave him an exasperated look, and then Livingston walked out hurriedly, leaving his helmet lying abandoned on the table.

Rusty sighed. Now he would definitely have to go and give that back. He wanted to make sure the costumes all stayed together. Mostly because he had this image of the twins turning up day of, wearing their SWAT-issue socks and nothing else.

In the meantime... He looked at Danny. "Okay," he said flatly. "What's going on?"

"Are you sure you're gonna be able to cope in the back of the van with seven other guys dressed as cops?" Danny asked innocently.

He raised an eyebrow. "With Saul and Reuben there? Yeah, I think I'll be fine. What are you up to?"

"I'm practising good HR skills," Danny said earnestly. "Making best use of my resources. Facilitating development and personal growth."

He couldn't help the smile that twitched across his lips. "Prison education system?"

Danny shrugged. "They sent me to some management classes after I washed out of my work placement."

"Washed out?" he repeated.

"Turns out paint thinner is flammable," Danny told him. "Did you know that?"

"I knew that," Rusty nodded. "And you're banned from vault construction unless there's a responsible adult there to supervise you."

"Huh." Danny pursed his lips. "I'm assuming you don't qualify."

He ignored that. "So, what is this brilliant HR strategy of yours?"

"When's the last time you got a full night's sleep?" Danny asked.

"Sometime before someone asked me to help him figure out how to rob three casinos in one night," he said with a tilt of his head. "I'll sleep when we're done."

"Sure," Danny nodded. "And if everything goes to hell cos you're too tired to think straight, we'll get plenty of time to sleep in prison."

"Danny..." He looked at him intently. "When have I ever let you down?"

_Never. _Danny didn't have to say it to say it. "Livingston's nerves are getting worse with all this waiting around. You need to relax some. It's - "

" - _really?_ You're doing this?" He sighed.

" - two birds, one stone," Danny insisted.

"Uh huh." He shook his head. "See, this isn't a clever HR strategy. This is sexual harrassment in the workplace."

"Really?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "Huh. I only got to go to a couple of classes. We didn't get around to covering that."

"Just tell me you didn't switch the SWAT uniform measurements when I wasn't looking," he said grimly. That would really be a step too far.

"No," Danny said at once with a look that reminded him that he knew better. "No, I wasn't thinking anything until I saw you looking at him. And him looking at you. This isn't a conspiracy, just...encouragement."

"You want me to get laid," Rusty stated.

Danny shrugged.

Rusty considered pointing out that he wasn't the one who'd just spent four years in prison, but there was no point. Danny didn't want to get laid. Danny wanted Tess. And right now, Rusty didn't think that was going to happen, and Danny had gently rebuffed his every attempt to discuss it. And, judging by the slight tilt to Danny's head, talking still wasn't on the table.

"Livingston's next door dressed in a SWAT uniform. You're both single. Go for it," Danny said with more of that so-called encouragement.

"You've been back in the world two weeks and you already know who's single?" Rusty asked, amused.

Danny shrugged. "Yeah. Oh, and Virgil was complaining _his _pants were too baggy. You might want to check that they haven't - "

" - they _switched?_" He groaned. "Shouldn't we be past problems that can be solved with a sharpie?"

Danny just grinned. Annoyingly.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm taking the helmet through, and I'm just gonna leave you with _that_ mental image." He snatched it up from the table and walked off, leaving Danny blinking slightly.

Maybe he'd get round to reminding Danny he wanted the costumes kept together. And maybe he wouldn't. In the meantime, he might as well have fun.

* * *

And 1.

He dropped his head onto his hand with a sigh. The breeze coming from the French windows blew gently through his hair. Right now, it was about the only thing keeping him awake. The desk was piled high with plans and blueprints and scribbled out sheets of paper, there was ink all over his fingers, and the vault below the diamond exchange remained stubbornly impregnable.

He heard the door click open and the soft footsteps, but they didn't really register until the barrel of the gun was flat against the back of his neck. "Freeze."

Obligingly, he froze.

"Have you been here since last night?"

His eyes flickered sideways to the clock. Ah. It seemed to be tomorrow. He wasn't absolutely sure how _that _had happened. "Yes," he admitted.

She sighed and the gun trailed down his back a little until it was just poking beneath his shirt collar. "Did you at least remember to take the trash out?"

Oop. "No, I forgot," he said with a grimace.

She pulled the trigger.

"Ah!" he objected as the water rushed down his neck, soaking him. He twisted round to look at her. "'s cold!"

Isabel looked supremely unrepentant. "The guy with the eidetic memory does _not _get to use 'I forgot' as an excuse," she told him severely.

With a sigh, he acknowledged the point. He _hadn't _forgotten, he'd just lost track of time, and maybe it had been lower down his mental list of priorities than it should have been. "Sorry," he said.

She smiled at him and blew on the end of the water pistol before sticking it into her holster.

"Where's your real gun?" he asked.

"Locked away," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I'm going to hold something that looks like a gun to your back while I have a real gun anywhere near me. Guns are not toys, Robert, and I am _not _explaining that one to Danny."

He grinned. "So much for living dangerously," he noted. She was still wearing her uniform, but she'd taken the tie out of her hair so it fell loose over her shoulders. "You look good," he told her softly, putting his hands on her hips and drawing her close.

She smiled. "Enjoy the uniform while you can," she warned. "This is one of the last times you'll get to see it."

"Really?" he asked eagerly. When she'd first come back the the US with him, she'd applied for a whole bunch of jobs with various law enforcement agencies. They'd all seemed to jump at the chance of hiring someone with her experience, but they'd also all wanted someone who'd actually worked in law enforcement in their country. Legitimate employers could be so picky that way. Now, with almost two years working for the LAPD, and a record-breakingly fast promotion to sergeant, she'd decided to try applying for some of those positions again.

Her eyes crinkled at the sound of his enthusiasm. Of course he wanted her to do well. "Remember the task force Du Pont was putting together?"

He nodded. Of course he remembered; they'd covered that a moment ago. "Human trafficking. Working along with the FBI, customs, Interpol and the Attorney General's office. Right?"

"Yeah." She smiled again. "I wasn't expecting to get it. I did some work in that area, back in Rome, but I figured he'd be looking for people with more experience."

He nodded. Most of her experience was in tracking down high level thieves, and that wasn't something she wanted to do anymore. "But you got it?" he asked intently.

"More than that." She swallowed hard. "He wants me to be his second-in-command."

His breath caught. "That's amazing," he said with feeling, and he stood up, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm so proud of you."

"It will mean a lot of travelling," she warned, pushing him back lightly, but taking his hands. "The office is in LA, but I will be away a lot."

"You really think I'm bothered about that?" he asked. He could _see _how much she wanted this. "You are going to be _amazing._"

"I hope so." She took a deep breath. "I have to admit, the thought is a little...intimidating. It's such a big step. Suppose I mess up?"

"Not going to happen," he promised, absolute faith shining through his voice.

She laughed a little and raised his hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. "It takes effect from January. I have to give Du Pont an answer by tonight."

"You already know what you want to say," he pointed out.

"Yes," she nodded. "But I wanted to know what you think."

Right. Because this was a mature, sensible, grown-up relationship. With water pistols. "I think I want you to be the best you can be," he said softly.

"Oh, Robert." Her eyes were soft as she leaned forwards and kissed him.

"Is it going to be dangerous?" he asked after a second, because no matter how supportive he was, he wanted to know.

She looked past him to the diamond exchange plans on the desk. "Is that?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But I'm careful. I'm always careful."

She squeezed his hand tightly. "I'll be careful too," she promised. "I always want to come home to you."

"With your water pistol?" he asked lightly.

"You bet," she grinned. "Now..." She reached up and undid her top button "Do you want to come upstairs and enjoy the uniform while you can?"

"Mmm." He smiled and reached up and opened a few more buttons, just for kicks. "Maybe you could keep the uniform. You know. Just for special occasions."


End file.
